


Reincarnated

by fandomfreak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:39:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfreak/pseuds/fandomfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Derek is a loner and Stiles is a famous actor. Derek begins having strange dreams depicting the death of his lover, who turns out to be none other than Stiles. He begins obsessing, sure that he and Stiles are meant to be together. Stiles takes him for a creepy fan at first, but as they both begin to piece together the mystery, they discover the dark secrets in their past life, secrets that have carried over to this life and threaten to destroy them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a dream about suicide, so if it triggers you, don't read.

Derek POV

            _He’s running, trying to keep up with a train. He’s out of breath, but it’s more out off desperation than anything else. The train is starting to go faster; pretty soon he’ll be left behind. He calls out a name in a voice too rough to be his. A person sticks their head out the window, and he’s confused at what he sees. It’s a boy, no older than 16, with sad brown eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He reaches out a hand to the boy. The boy reaches out and grabs his hand. They hold on to each other for a few seconds before the train gets too fast and he’s too out of breath. Finally, they’re forced to let go, and their fingers brush against each other for the last time before he has to stop for breath. The last thing he sees are the boy’s eyes, which seem to be silently begging him for forgiveness._

_He drops to his knees and watches as the train gets further and further away. Hot tears begin to blur his vision. He looks away long enough to wipe his eyes, so he only hears it. He looks up to see one of the train compartments has unattached itself from the rest. It heads straight for a tree, and that’s when he knows. His lover has died._

_He runs to the tree, but it’s too late. The boy is dead. He holds the boy’s body in his arms as he openly sobs._

_\- - -_

_Now he’s tightening a noose around his neck, about to hang himself from a tree. It’s not just any tree, it is the location of his lover’s death. He closes his eyes and steps off a small wooden chest, kicking it away. The last thing he remembers is hanging from the tree, looking directly into the spot where the boy died before he wakes up._

_\- - -_

Derek’s covered in sweat and his cheeks are wet. He wipes away what appear to be tears. He feels like his heart’s just been broken, and doesn’t understand why. He’s not into men, yet he longs to hold the boy in his dream, to caress his flushed cheeks with the moles, to kiss his soft pink lips, to stare into those mesmerizing brown eyes for the rest of his life.

            He doesn’t want to think about the dream anymore, so he gets up to drive around and find a place where he can just hang out for a while. He doesn’t want to be alone, doesn’t want to think. He just wants to forget about this.

\- - -

            He has the same dream for weeks, but tries to ignore it. Each time, he feels a piece of himself dying. He doesn’t understand how a dream can give him so much pain, but it does.

            One day, he’s driving to see his sister when he hears a train and feels a pang in his chest. His eyes get watery and he remembers the boy dying in his arms. Suddenly, it’s getting hard to breathe. Everything feels like it’s too much.

            He has to pull over and call his sister. He cancels their plans and drives home instead. It’s just one of those nights, where he just needs to be alone with a pint of ice cream, his favorite blanket, and Netflix.

            And that’s when it happens.

            He’s browsing through the movies on Netflix when he sees the boy. He drops his ice cream, almost drops his PS3 controller. He rubs his eyes, figuring this is probably just a sugar-induced hallucination or something, but no. It’s the same boy, same moles, same everything. He feels his breath catch in his throat, and quickly figures out the name of the boy.

            _Stiles Stilinski._

A quick search on IMDb tells him that the boy is a young actor who’s only been in a few movies. He stars in a supernatural TV show called Young Vamps, about vampires in high school. The show sounds stupid, but he’s eager to see the boy.

            That’s when it hits him. This is all so wrong. He’s never been interested in males, not even the truly attractive ones. Not that this Stiles kid isn’t attractive, he’s just goofy-looking and not what Derek would normally consider attractive. But he does, and it is seriously freaking him out. The more he thinks about it, the more confused he gets. Finally, he decides to just watch the stupid show since he has nothing better to do, or so he tells himself. Deep down, he knows it’s because of Stiles, but maybe if he keeps denying his strange attraction to the kid, it’ll go away on its own.

\- - -

            Its 4 am and he’s watched the whole first season of Young Vamps and is halfway done with the second. The show is actually good, not that he’ll admit it. He’s already cried quite a few times, mostly because every time he hears Stiles say “I love you” to anyone on the show, he gets nostalgia for what never was. It’s strange and fucked up, but if you had to sum up Derek Hale in two words, those would be perfect.

            Derek Hale, the kid who had an imaginary friend until he was almost 11. Derek Hale, the kid whose family burned down in a fire. Derek Hale, the kid who was in and out of the foster system for years until his drug-addicted older sister got her shit together and finally got custody of him. Derek Hale, the creep who lived in the house where a whole family was slaughtered by their young daughters. Derek Hale, the guy who never smiled, never went out, never really knew his place in the world. Derek Hale, strange and fucked up. Yeah, that was him in a nutshell, and he wasn’t going to change now.

\- - -

            It didn’t really turn into an obsession with Stiles. It was more of an obsession with Young Vamps, and the cast of course. He had the money, so why not go to Comic-Con to meet them?

            It was weird, but he needed to do this. He didn’t know why or how, all he knew is that this was something that had to be done, and the longer he put it off, the worst he felt. He wrote a letter, one trying to explain everything without sounding like a creep, not that it was possible. He also included a few sketches of his dream, sketches he’d done in the middle of the night when his demons were too loud and his heart too broken. He would just go up to Stiles, hand him the envelope, and leave. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he was not going to let anything stop him, never had, never would.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek meet for the first time, but certainly not the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been to Comic-Con or any con so if I got something wrong, I'm sorry.

Stiles POV

            He’s running late this morning, something that’s been happening a lot lately since he’s getting little to no sleep at night. At first, he blamed it on the crazy work schedule he had, filming Young Vamps and his new movie at the same time while also attending different talk shows and trying to avoid the paparazzi as much as possible. It was exhausting, but he’d finished filming both things about a month ago, so he could no longer blame it on his work. No, this was something else, something weird that he tried to push away to no avail. He didn’t even like acknowledging it; even thinking about it felt wrong.

            He’d begun wearing a rubber band on his left wrist and snapping it against his skin every time he thought about it to train himself to stop. It was a technique he’d learned from years of therapy. It wasn’t doing much good for him now, not that therapy ever did much for him. In his case, it seemed to do more harm than good.

            He decides to stop by Starbucks to get coffee; otherwise he doubts he’ll make it through the day. He buys the first thing he sees on the menu, not even caring what it is. He can’t stop thinking about those piercing green eyes, or the way the eyebrows of the man in his dreams seemed to convey more emotions than words ever could.

            While waiting for his drink, he pulls at the rubber band relentlessly, but every time he blinks, he sees the man. It’s unnerving, dreaming about someone you’ve never met and having them slowly take over your thoughts. It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his mind, and he’s truly considering taking a break from his work to focus more on himself and his well-being. He can’t afford to lose his mind, not again.

\- - -

            He arrives to see a big commotion. There’s a big guy in a long-sleeved burgundy shirt arguing with a security guard. A bunch of fans are scattered all around the room, silently watching. His costars are sitting behind their table, whispering among themselves.

            “Sir, you didn’t pay to meet the cast. You need to leave or I will call for backup and we will take you out of here by force.”

            “I’ll leave, just please let me give this to Stiles.”

            The man sounds so desperate that Stiles begins to feel bad for him.

            “Look, son, I’m just doing my job. I’m going to ask one more time, and if you refuse, I will take you out of here myself.”

            “No, no, please. At least let me see him, yeah? I just want to see him in person. I _need_ to see him in person. Please.”

            Stiles can hear the man’s voice shaking, and for some reason, it makes him feel like crying. He rubs the back of his neck for a few seconds before walking up to the security guard and the man.

            “Stiles, what are you doing? Can’t you see this guy is crazy?” Jackson, his rude coworker, asks.

            Stiles scowls. “You guys know how I feel about that word.”

            The security guard and man both step towards him, the security guard to stand in front of him, and the man in a desperate attempt to hand him a rather large envelope.

            His jaw drops open in surprise. This man is the man from his dreams. He feels his mind go blank as he stares directly into the eyes that have haunted him for almost a month.

            “It’s you,” he hears the man whisper. “It’s really you.”

            He smiles weakly. “You want to give me something?”

            The man nods eagerly. “This is for you.”

            He hands Stiles the envelope, their fingers brushing against each other. They both freeze and make eye contact. The man quickly thanks him and rushes out of the room, but not before Stiles catches a glimpse of a tear. He feels like he’s about to pass out, so he quickly makes his way to his seat and drops down on the chair.

            “Told you he was nuts,” Jackson mutters.

            Without thinking, Stiles punches him in the face, which leads to him being kicked out of Comic-Con and having to take a drug test, as well as having to attend anger management classes before he can make any more public appearances or being able to film again.

\- - -

            The fist things he notices when he opens the envelope are the sketches. Sketches of a train and two lovers, of one man holding the other as he appears to bleed to death right under a tree, of that man hanging himself in the exact same tree. He feels chills running down his spine. This is what he’s been dreaming every single night for the past few weeks.

            He can’t bear to look at the sketches for much longer. It hurts too much, so he carefully slides them back into the envelope. Then, he takes out a letter.

           

_Hello,_

_I don’t really know how to start. I don’t even know what I’m doing, to tell you the truth. These past few weeks have felt so surreal. It’s like I’m here but I’m slipping away every day I spend without you. I’m sorry, I know that sounds so weird and creepy and I wouldn’t blame you if you decide to burn this all and continue with your normal life._

_I guess I’ll start by telling you my name. I’m Derek Hale. Less than a month ago, I began having a strange dream. Every night, it’s the same dream. Why am I telling you this? Well, because you’re in my dream._

_It starts with me running after a train. I catch up and you, yes you, stick your head out the window. We hold hands for a few seconds before we are forced to let go, and every single time it happens, I feel like a piece of my soul is being ripped away. I’m crying and I look away for just a second, but in that second, your compartment somehow gets separated from the rest and it crashes straight into a tree. I run to you, but it’s too late, and I hold your dead body in my arms._

_My dream then changes, and I think some time has passed, because everything looks a little different. This next part is what freaks me out the most. I hang myself from the tree that caused your death. That’s when I wake up._

_This must sound so crazy to you. It sounds crazy to me and I’m the one dreaming this. It really freaks me out, and I’m normally the guy who ignores problems until they disappear, but in this case, I can’t. I try and try, but the more I try to suppress these feelings and the strange dream, the more I think about it. It’s driving me insane, and I felt that if I didn’t do this now, I might never get the chance._

_I’ve never been interested in men, never once felt any sort of attraction to one, yet with you, I feel like I’m being pulled towards you. It’s not even anything physical, I mean, you’re good-looking, but I’m not interested in you because you’re good looking. It’s something that goes above and beyond anything physical, something I can’t even being to understand. I just hope you’ve read this with an open mind. I’m not even sure how to end this. I could keep going, but I think if I do, you’ll definitely think I’m some obsessed freak that’s making this up to get your attention. I think I’m just doing this so I can at least know that I tried to reach you. I don’t expect you to believe me or ever try to find me, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be hoping for it. This is all so strange and new to me, and I feel like I’m simultaneously dying and truly living for the first time. Love does weird shit to people, huh?_

_I don’t even know how I feel about any of this, but I do know that I love you, or I did. Maybe all that stuff about other lives is true. Maybe in another life, you and I were madly in love, and it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe this time, it is. I don’t know. I have so many conflicting emotions in regards to this. On one hand, I want to follow my heart, which tells me to go to you and finally live the life we were meant to. On the other hand, I am so freaked out that I’m even considering this, so confused because I’ve never been attracted to men, then all of a sudden I’m dreaming of a person who turns out to be real and I’m falling for them even though I know nothing about them except for what the internet has to say. It’s so freakin’ weird, but then again, so am I, so why am I even surprised._

_If you’re still reading this, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to read all of this even though it makes no sense. I’m sorry if I’ve freaked you out._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Derek Hale_

_P.S.- You’re a great actor and I’m a big fan of your work. I hope you succeed in your field because you are truly amazing. Your talent deserves to be recognized._

            Stiles sighs and puts the letter back into the envelope. It’s all too much to take  in at once. He feels like his mind’s been invaded, and desperately wants to forget. He decides to go to a local bar. It’s the only way he’ll be able to stay sane long enough to fall asleep without having to think about what’s happened within the last 12 hours. Besides, he’s been working so hard; he deserves a night of fun.

           


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek bump into each other at a small bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how to feel about this chapter, but it is what it is. Alcohol cw and I guess self-mutilation?? Not really but I'll mention it just to be safe.

Derek POV

            He’s been drinking quite a bit since the Comic-Con incident. Not heavily, just enough to help him relax. He spends most nights at a small bar that most people don’t even know exist. It’s usually just him, the bartender, and a jukebox playing oldies. It’s nice.

            Tonight, he’s drank a few beers and is sketching when he hears someone enter the bar. He doesn’t even look up, just continues to go about his business. Sometimes, he’ll talk to anyone else that comes in here, or the bartender, but tonight’s the kind of night where he welcomes the solitude, wanting to get lost inside himself for once.

            He’s too concentrated in what he’s doing to notice Stiles. All of a sudden, the room seems to darken, and that’s when he looks up. It’s Stiles, hands on his hips, glaring down at him. He’s blocking Derek’s only source of light.

            “Can you please move?” Derek asks politely, staring down at his sketch in embarrassment. He’d been sketching a picture of him and Stiles holding hands, watching the sunset.

            “You’re stalking me, aren’t you?” Stiles demands angrily.

            Derek furrows his brows in confusion. “What are you talking about? Other than the letter, I have not attempted to contact you or even known where you are. What are you doing here anyways? Aren’t you underage?”

            Stiles scoffs. “You want me to believe you don’t stalk me, yet you know my age.”

            Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re an actor. Your age is all over the internet. Even if I wasn’t trying to find it out, it pops up occasionally.”

            Stiles looks at Derek for a long time before nodding. “Okay, let’s pretend you really weren’t stalking me. Why are you here?”

            Derek shrugs. “I come here to relax. My place is too quiet, but other places are too loud. I just come here most nights to drink a few beers and sketch.”

            Stiles stares down at the sketch Derek was working on. “You’re really talented.”

            Derek blushes. “Thanks. Doesn’t it bother you that I’m drawing us… together?”

            “It normally wouldn’t, since I’ve seen drawings and read stories about me having sex with my costars and stuff, but with you, it’s different,” he admits.

            Derek nods. “I understand. Most times, I don’t really realize what I’m drawing until I finish. It’s like my hand has a mind of its own.”

            Stiles looks at Derek with a strange expression but doesn’t say anything. Derek doesn’t really know what to say, so he just looks down at his work until he hears Stiles walk away. He’s both relieved and disappointed, but goes back to his sketching. He’s almost done, and if he doesn’t finish it now, he’ll end up throwing it away. For some reason, this one is too special to meet the same fate as countless others, so he grabs his pencil and resumes where he left off, oblivious to the world around him.

\- - -

            He finally finishes a few hours later. He can tell it’s been hours because his neck feels sore and he’s suddenly very tired. He’s gathering up his stuff when Stiles walks, or rather sways, toward him.

            “Hey, hey you, Derek, don’t leave. I wanna talk to you,” he slurs, a shot glass in his hand. He takes a shot and tosses the glass aside. It shatters on the floor, but both Stiles and the bartender seem unfazed.

            Stiles trips and lands on the floor, across from Derek. He’s giggling as he pulls himself up to the chair that Derek previously occupied. “This is great. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

            “Maybe you should go home,” Derek suggests quietly.

            “No way. We need to talk. Sit down,” Stiles commands, trying to pat the seat beside him but failing miserably and nearly falling down again. Derek manages to catch him, and when they touch, it feels like an electric shock running through his body.

            Derek makes sure Stiles is sitting before joining him in the opposite chair. He keeps his distance, knowing that the kid is too wasted to know what he’s doing or saying.

            “Let’s talk, but when we’re done, I’m calling a cab for you,” Derek informs, holding up Stiles’ keys.

            “Hey, those’re mine,” Stiles whines before burping and bursting into laughter.

            “I’ll leave them with the bartender and you can come get them when you’re sober. You can’t even walk, let alone drive, and I am not letting you on the road like this. You could hurt someone else, or worse, yourself.”

            Stiles squints at him. “You’re such a sourwolf,” he says, erupting into giggles once more.

            Derek sighs. This is going to be a long night.

\- - -

            Hours later, and Stiles has gotten serious. He stares at Derek intently for too long, which creeps Derek out.

            “What?” Derek asks, feeling self-conscious.

            “I’m trying to figure out how you knew about my dream,” Stiles says thoughtfully.

            “Wait, what? _Your_ dream?”

            Stiles nods. “I’ve been having the same dream for a while now, exactly as you described. You’re the man in my dreams, so I’m thinking Scott put you up to this. He’s the only one who knows about it, but why? It’s so fucked up.”

            Stiles suddenly looks angry. “Of course. It was Scott! He’s probably still mad about me accidentally killing his hamsters. Fuck. How could I have been so stupid? Here I was thinking you were just a strange fan. To think that I was actually considering giving this, giving _us,_ a chance.”

            Derek feels his heart skip a beat when he hears that Stiles was considering giving him a chance. He looks at Stiles, hoping to see the giggly drunk again, but he just sees a furious drunk who looks ready to strangle him. He reaches out for Derek’s sketch and rips it in half.

            “Fuck this, and fuck you. How could you go along with this, y-you monster!” Stiles spits out angrily before walking away. He turns back long enough to tell Derek to “stay away, freak”, and then he’s gone.

            Derek sits there in shock, gathering the pieces of his drawing. He goes home with a heavy heart, and that’s the first time he doesn’t have the dream. He has a different dream, one that seems to tell a different, yet similar, tale of the two lovers, destined to be together, yet always dying in each other’s arms.

\- - -

            _The first thing he notices is how cold it is. He’s wearing a life jacket and floating in the middle of a never-ending sea, surrounded by hundreds of other people, all wearing life jackets and shivering. Some look frozen to death, others are crying, but he pays no attention to them. No, he’s too busy looking into the soft brown eyes that seem to be losing their spark by the second._

_“Stay with me,” he begs._

_“I-it’s c-c-c-cold,” the boy replies, his lovely lips now discolored._

_“I know. I know it is, but we’ll be rescued soon. You’ll see. Just hang on until then.”_

_“I love you,” the boy whispers, moving closer to him._

_“I love you too,” he replies as he wraps his arms around the love of his life. They stay like that for a long time, and he feels the life leave the boy, but can do nothing to stop it. He begins to weep for his lost love, wishing to die with him. Ironically, it is his loud cries which alert a rescue boat and save his life._

\- - -

_He’s in New York City, an older version, but still NYC. He recognizes it from the years he and Laura spent here. He’s among a group of survivors being interrogated when a wealthy-looking woman walks up to him and slaps him._

_“How could you do that to my baby, you, you monster!” she demands. “If you loved him, you would have made sure he got on the boat with us, not made him stay behind with you. Now he’s dead and it’s all your fault!” She began to sob as she punched and scratched him, and he just stood there, taking it. She was right. He was the reason his lover was dead. In that moment, he was consumed by so much self-hatred that could almost feel his insides burning._

_\- - -_

He wakes up to find that he’s scratched himself in his sleep. He feels sick. As bad as the other dream was, this one was worse. He truly feels that it was his fault that Stiles died.

            He doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He turns on his bedside lamp. Grabs his sketchbook off the floor, and begins to sketch what he remembers, hoping that this will somehow help him work through whatever the hell this is before it completely destroys him.


End file.
